Evil That Men Do
by Joon
Summary: A series of murders lead Harry to a much bigger problem. A sequel to Ties That Bind. TVverse. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

Because sequels are always fun, but feedback is even better!

* * *

"Not tonight. I need to wash my hair."

"Emily, come on. At least make an effort to give me a real reason." A cold stare was all he got back. "Fine, fine. How about this weekend then?"

"I'm washing my hair again. In fact, I'm washing my hair forever."

The young man scowled, watching the retreating back of the blonde. Across the bar, a guy about his age, wearing the monochromatic suit of a guy who worked some place corporate smirked at witnessing the rejection.

"Hey, can I get a beer?" called over Corporate Suit.

"My shift's over," he retorted. Picking up a shot glass, he poured out a house whiskey and knocked it back. Lifting the lip of the bar, he ignored Corporate Suit who clearly stage whispered "jackass" in his direction.

The frigid Chicago air slapped him in the face as he stepped out. It was one in the morning and he felt every eight hours of his shift. The final, and might he add ruthless, rejection from the Emily girl at the end of his day did not help. He'd taken four steps toward his apartment when a voice called out.

"George!"

Spinning around, the young bartender squinted in the dimmed streetlights at the familiar face coming toward him.

"Ben? Is that you?" Closing the distance between them, George smiled. "What're you doing here, man?"

Ben returned the grin, clapping a hand down on a stunned George's outstretched palm. "I missed being able to freeze my fingers off. California's all warm weather and thin chicks in bikinis."

"Sounds like hell, you jerk," laughed George. "You back for a visit?"

"Yeah, saying hi to my sister and I thought I'd drop by. It's been ages."

"No kidding. I thought you'd never look back after hitting the west coast."

Ben shrugged. "Even I got homesick for this cold ass town. Sorry I didn't call, it's been a little crazy."

"No, no, it's fine. I just finished my shift, thank Christ."

"Well, you up for a drink? It's only one."

"Dude, I work at a bar. Of course I'm up for a drink. Just not at my bar."

" 'Course not," agreed Ben. "I know a good place cross town. We can take my car."

Agreeing, George trailed after his friend who led him toward a shining new rental car. "Looks like California's treating you well," commented George, feeling the slightest hint of jealousy.

Ben gave him a grin over his shoulder. "Not really."

* * *

The sun's brightness looked deceptive against the chilly temperatures that whipped through the city. Lieutenant Murphy was unwinding her scarf at her desk while attempting to take a sip of her coffee to warm up when a familiar suited arm came into view.

"Kirmani, do NOT tell me –"

" 'Fraid so."

The arm came attached with a hand that was currently holding a new manila folder, marked with a red tag for a new homicide. With a sigh, Murphy dropped her scarf and grabbed the folder. Flipping it open, she got a nice eyeful of a bloody crime scene photo.

"His name's George Pegg. The owner of the bar he works at found him early this morning when he was closing up shop," Kirmani supplied. "Head was knocked in, but his wallet was still on him. So was his cash."

Pulling the photograph out of the folder, Murphy held it next to four other photographs that were currently tacked on her cubicle wall. "Head trauma. Young, male, bartender," she listed. "Nothing matches up."

"Except what forensics will probably say," supplied Kirmani, cynically.

"Lucky us."

Using a piece of tape, Murphy stuck the photo of George Pegg's corpse as the fifth on her growing macabre wall, next to the strangled, gunshot, and stabbed victims from before. Technically, forensics hadn't told her yet that a sweep of the crime scene gave them nothing. But she was pretty sure it'd only be bad news for her, as it had been for the past few weeks.

"Let's see what Butters has to say," said Murphy, her lack of optimism clearly showing on her voice. "In the mean time, run a check on Pegg. Everything back to his birth if necessary." She could sense the same sense of already present defeat from Kirmani, but was grateful that he only nodded and left to make the calls.

* * *

Unbeknownst to him, for once in his life, Harry Dresden's week was going much better than anyone else's. Much of the wizard's cheer came from the recent lifting of his probation, which until last week, had meant even a simple scrying had required the filling out of a permission slip for approval. Before lifting the probation, Harry had been forced to sit through another lecture regarding what would happen should he misuse his powers. The wizard had bitten back a reply that he hadn't technically misused his powers. He'd just been duped by a trickster who'd managed to escape from the Council's grasp and was currently still evading the wardens, despite best efforts. After generously paying Harry's rent for damages done to his office, the trickster had all but vanished without a trace. But bringing all that up at the time hadn't seemed appropriate.

Returning to his office, the wizard celebrated his newly regained magical freedom by happily lighting piles of permission slips on fire with a gesture.

"You do realize you're rapidly running out of furniture, don't you?" asked Bob, eyeing the resulting scorched desk and chairs.

"They're still usable," Harry protested, wiping down the cinders.

"Hardly presentable," the ghost commented.

"Well, good thing you're the only one who has to look at them then," replied Harry, his happy mood undiminished.

"I'm simply saying that if you render all your furniture like this you'll end up having to sleep, eat and perform spells sitting on your bed."

"You know, now that you mention it, that doesn't sound half bad. I wouldn't even have to leave the loft."

Harry grinned at the put upon sigh that came from the ghost. These days anything from Bob that reminded him of the ghost's temperament made Harry smile. The passing of a year had put some distance between Bob's experience of being trapped on the Other Side for six weeks. And while Harry no longer felt the need to assess Bob's condition based on whether or not a ring or an ascot was missing from the ghost's wardrobe, the wizard found it hard to completely let go of his worry. Every once in awhile he would glance at the trapped spirit and think that Bob still didn't look as solid as he used to before.

Even now, there was the familiar set of clothing worn by the familiar ghost who wore the familiar expression of exasperation as he gazed at the damaged furniture. But still Harry felt as if somehow Bob was less present and in some ways more ghost-like than he had ever been before.

Looking up from his assessment of burnt table, Bob caught the intense stare.

"Would you please stop looking at me like that?" he asked, fighting not to roll his eyes.

"What? I wasn't," Harry protested.

"Harry."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'll cut it out, I promise," assured Harry.

"Well, if you're done with the pyrotechnics and impolite staring, I have a few new defensive spells you might want to try."

Since sleep and relaxation were not avenues open to a dead spirit looking to take his mind off of the events of last year, Bob had more or less buried himself in constructing and fine tuning spells to remain distracted. There had been evenings when candles were rendered unnecessary as the place had been lit by the ghost's golden writings in the air, .

"Bring it on, Bob," stated Harry, gladly.

Moving toward his lab, there was nearly a bounce to the wizard's step. Whatever financial problems that were undoubtedly looming in the horizon all seemed pale worries compared to the feeling of freedom he had right now. Life, at this moment, felt good.

* * *

"The blow was to the side of his head," said Butters, a gloved hand indicating the indented section of the former George Pegg's skull. "It probably could've been done with a lead pipe or something like that. Nothing really unusual."

"And that's it?" asked Murphy.

"Well….yeah," Butters replied. "Blow to the head. It's pretty simple."

"Maybe for you," muttered Murphy. "Anyway, thanks Butters. Just hang onto everything for now. I'll let you know when you can release the body."

"Sure thing."

Murphy envied that from Butters' point of view, his portion of the investigation was over. Her look into George Pegg's death was far from over. Just like her look into all the other four homicides before his. And like the others, the Pegg investigation was not starting out well. The interview with Pegg's boss didn't turn up anything suspicious. Pegg was a 25 year old college drop out, tending bars until he could figure out what he wanted to do. He wasn't a hard worker, but he wasn't a bad one either and as far as the owner of the bar could tell, Pegg had no enemies. It seemed the worst thing Pegg ever did was try and score dates with women way beyond his league.

Like those before him, Pegg's death didn't make sense. He wasn't killed for money and he wasn't anyone who'd ever done anyone else any harm. But for some reason, someone had killed him with such precision that not a scrap of forensic evidence could be found.

Murphy lack of headway in the cases, despite the sheer number of hours she and Kirmani were putting in, was frustrating the lieutenant to the point where it was keeping her up at night. If it went on any longer the four murders, now potentially five, would become cold cases. While no one said it out loud, a cold case was evidence of blatant failure on the part of the investigating officer. And Murphy would be damned if she was going to get one of those on her record, let alone five.

When Murphy got back from her trip downstairs, she found Kirmani waiting for her.

"I compiled everything I found on Pegg," said the detective. His face looked decidedly unexcited.

"Nothing?"

"Well, five years ago he was picked up for public intoxication. He told the police that his girlfriend had dumped him and he'd gone out to 'drink himself into a coma,' " Kirmani read from the file.

"A 20 year old getting drunk after a bad break up. How unusual," said Murphy, dryly. Sitting down, she contemplated the five photos staring back at her for a few seconds and then picked up her phone.

"Calling Dresden?" asked Kirmani, casually.

"Yes."

When Kirmani didn't protest, Murphy knew they'd hit their wall.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry made an effort to somber his happy spirits a little when he saw Murphy standing by her desk waiting for him. The wizard could see the dark circles under the lieutenant's eyes that indicated a lack of sleep and the stiff lines of her body that indicated a lot of controlled tension.

"Hey Murphy," Harry called as he walked to her cubicle.

"You're in a good mood," Murphy commented, the annoyance at their polar states of mind obvious. "Thanks for coming," she added.

"No problem."

The last year had caused some shifts in Harry's relationship with the forceful lieutenant. He'd more or less dropped out of sight during his intense search for Bob, a time during which Murphy had shown a considerable amount of patience. That patience had worn down a little during Harry's probation when everything the wizard promised seemed to take ages to deliver. Murphy's call to Harry yesterday afternoon to request an interview had been heavily accented by wariness if whether or not she was perhaps wasting her time. Harry had been quick to assure her that he'd help her as much and as quickly as possible this time around.

Five file folders were passed to Harry after he'd settled into an empty chair next to Murphy's desk. Taking the oldest one, Harry opened it up to a photo that featured a close up shot of a dead woman slumped inside a parked car.

"The first victim, Maureen Wainwright," supplied Murphy. "She was shot in her car after leaving work. A clean shot through the temple, the bullet exiting out the driver's window. Forensics couldn't lift any prints, hairs or blood other than the victim's. No signs of struggle in the car and no evidence that the car was jacked into."

"The killer could have always come up to her just as she got her door open and forced his way in," suggested Harry. "This looks like a public building parking lot. Was there anything on the security cameras?"

"The cameras only caught her car at an angle, coming from the right. You see Maureen and then nothing until the person who discovered her body."

Harry opened his mouth to comment, but was cut off by Murphy opening the second folder for him. "A week later a sophomore at the University of Chicago was stabbed to death outside of her dorm. Again, no witnesses, no forensics evidence." Quickly she moved onto the next two folders. "Four days after that a guy's found shot. Last time people saw him he was leaving his gym. A week after THAT a 12 year old girl is found strangled. And now," she finished, brandishing the last folder. "Just yesterday a 25 year old bartender is found beaten to death."

"Anything connecting these people?" asked Harry.

"Nothing!" Murphy exclaimed, angrily. "They all lived in different neighborhoods. None of them held any relating jobs. One was a student, one was an accountant, one was a little kid for god's sake. None of the victims were in any kind of trouble or gave anyone any reason to kill them."

Closing the folders, Harry laid them out on the desk. "So what makes you think it's all the same killer?"

Murphy hefted a sigh and leaned back in her chair. "I don't. At least, I don't have a real reason. Call it an instinct," she said. "These murders are too clean. Forensics couldn't find anything at any of the crime scenes. I can believe a murderer gets lucky once in awhile, but five different murderers all happen to flee without leaving anything behind? It just feels wrong."

"So a clean crime scene is all that these have in common?" asked Harry.

"That and the fact that all five are growing cold on my desk," said Murphy, bitterly. "I need something to at least set me in the right direction. Anything." A small smile formed on her lips. "Kirmani didn't even pitch a fit when I told him I was calling you."

"Man, you guys are desperate," Harry remarked. Shuffling the folders around, he pulled out the latest victim's information. "Can I take these?"

"Be my guest. Just give me something."

"Is George Pegg still here?"

"He's down with Butters."

"Right. Do you think he might be willing to part with a few strands of hair?" inquired Harry.

"We can...ask," Murphy replied, slowly. "I don't want to know," she added, holding up a hand.

* * *

Three hours later, Harry stared into the mixture that was currently swirling with Pegg's liberated follicles.

"Mixture's clean," stated Harry.

"What makes your lieutenant so certain this is something in your field of expertise?" asked Bob.

"I think I'm more of a last resort than a choice," replied the wizard, dumping the contents of the bowl. "So Pegg died from a cracked skull. There's nothing magical about it."

"What about a tracking spell?"

"I thought of that. No usable footprints at the crime scene. And no discarded murder weapon to scry with either."

Bob gave an impressed grimace. "Very thorough, your killer."

Harry nodded, sitting down at the work table. "There has to be something I can use to at least give Murphy a lead."

"When did you say Pegg was killed?"

"Sometime around yesterday morning."

"Mmmm."

The wizard looked up at the tone in Bob's murmur. "Why?"

"Well," the ghost began, looking vaguely reluctant. "There is something you can try. But it won't be terribly pleasant," he added, looking at Harry's expectant expression.

"Bob, half my life isn't terribly pleasant," Harry commented, wryly. "What is it?"

Twisting a ring on his finger, the ghost hesitated momentarily. "The spell is going to require you to obtain a specific sample off of Pegg's body."

"What?"

"A portion of his eyes. Preferably as moist as possible."

"Please tell me the spell doesn't involve me DRINKING anything that's got – "

"No, no," Bob assured, quickly. "You'll merely need to apply the mixture to your eyelids in order for the spell to work." Relatively speaking, Harry supposed that was a little better than ingesting a dead guy's eye juice. "Pegg's eyes might still carry an echo of what he saw last before his demise."

"Like his killer's face," concluded Harry. Bob nodded, still looking apprehensive. "Definitely worth a shot."

"Harry, I must stress that the experience is not at all enjoyable," warned Bob.

"I've smeared worse things on my eyes, Bob."

"Not the potion," retorted the ghost. "The spell itself. Psychic echoes of the deceased, especially ones who died a rather violent death can be extremely disturbing. You must be sure you can handle it before attempting it."

"It's the best chance I've got to give Murphy some information," said Harry, resolutely. "I owe her big time after the last year."

Seeing the stubborn look on the wizard's face, Bob knew the futility of arguing. "You better get the eyes, then."

* * *

Not surprisingly, Harry's latest acquisition request was a little more difficult than a few strands of hair. In the end, the best that was managed was a small vial that contained barely a millimeter of liquid taken from Pegg's left eye. It was just enough to create a tablespoon's worth of potion.

"Keep talking at all times," instructed Bob. "It'll help you from getting too lost in Pegg's echo."

"Got it." Holding a small cup that contained the yellowish cream, the wizard settled into a chair.

"Are you sure about this?" Bob asked for the 4th time, worriedly. "You really should have someone with you that can actually do something should anything go wrong. I won't even be able to slap you out of it should the echo get to be too much."

"Just do what you used to do when I zoned out during my lessons," Harry suggested, getting a puzzled look from the ghost. "Yell," he clarified, grinning. "That always got my attention in no time."

Bob returned the grin with a small smile of his own. "Very well."

Leaning back in his seat, the wizard dipped his finger in the mixture and carefully applied it to his closed eyelids. The thin layer of cream slowly shifted from a dull yellow color to a much brighter canary shade that was accompanied by a sudden warmth on the wizard's eyelids. With his eyes closed, Harry could see only blackness for a few moments. And then after awhile, vague shapes and shadows began to move from within the darkness.

"Okay, here we go," said Harry. "I can sort of see shadows moving around. Wait…there's a light. I think it's a street lamp."

There was no sound to accompany the visuals, but based on the way the picture moved up and down, it seemed Pegg was walking. A neon sign to his right indicated he'd just exited the bar where he worked. The picture wobbled for a few steps before stopping. Something from behind caught Pegg's attention. The picture suddenly shifted and swirled as Pegg spun around and Harry gripped the arm of his chair.

"Ugh, this is going to give me motion sickness," he grumbled.

"Be grateful if that's the extent of your complaints," stated Bob's voice.

Pegg was now facing a man about his age, who was smiling at him. The image of the man moved closer as Pegg himself closed the distance between them. "He met up with another guy," Harry guessed by the familiar way the two seemed to be interacting.

"Can you make out what they're talking about?" asked Bob.

"I can't read his lips, but I think they know each other," Harry reported. The stranger gestured with his hand, as if asking Pegg to follow him. The picture began to move again, indicating Pegg was trailing after him without question. Ahead of him, the stranger turned his head around and said something that looked like "Not really" before turning back around to keep walking.

Harry instinctively craned his own head as if to try and look past the stranger, to see if he could spot where the stranger was leading Pegg. And then the picture went abruptly black.

"What the - ?"

"What do you see?" asked Bob, sharply.

"Nothing. It's gone black," said Harry. Keeping his eyes closed, he tried to break through the darkness, but could see nothing. After a few more moments of impenetrable blackness, the wizard wiped a sleeve over his eyes. "Is that it?" he asked, experimentally blinking his eyes open. His vision felt momentarily fuzzy, before focusing in on Bob's face that was currently sporting a frown.

"So it would seem," replied the ghost.

"The spell just blinked out. Was the potion too weak?" asked Harry.

"The spell wasn't broken before you wiped it off your eyes," said Bob. "You were still connected to Pegg's echo."

"I don't think he was killed when the vision stopped," said Harry.

"Certainly not," Bob agreed. "You would have had a much….stronger reaction had that been the case."

"It was like someone just inked out the last reel of a movie or something," described Harry. "Or someone erased something."


	3. Chapter 3

"This him?" asked the sketcher. He held up the pad of paper that now had a pencil rendition of the man Harry had seen talking to Pegg the night of his death.

"Perfect," said Harry. "Murphy, I don't know if he's the killer, but he was with Pegg the night he got killed."

"And HOW exactly did you come up with this guy? A magic eight ball?" asked Kirmani, skeptically.

"My crystal ball, actually," Harry replied, in a matter of fact tone.

"Oh yeah? Can you use it to see what I'm about to –"

"It's a start somewhere," Murphy interrupted before Kirmani could finish what would no doubt be a threat. She handed the detective the sheet of paper. "Take that around to the bar and see if anyone recognizes him."

"Sure. Why not?" muttered Kirmani, taking the portrait.

Diplomatically, Murphy waited until he was gone before turning back to Harry. "You said you had something else you needed from me?" she inquired.

The wizard shifted a little in his seat. "Uh, yeah. I don't suppose I could see Pegg's body?"

"That shouldn't be a problem."

"Alone."

Murphy sighed. "You know Butters' rules. A staff member has to be with you when seeing any corpse in the morgue."

"He lets grieving family members spend time in there alone," Harry protested.

"Are you a grieving family member?" Murphy shot back. "Harry, I already had to talk my way around getting you Pegg's hair and that eye…thing. Butters' is going to flip if you tamper with the body."

"I'm not going to tamper with the body. I just need to see it."

"So see it with Butters there."

* * *

"Wow, you really went to task on this one."

"Shut the hell up! She saw through it! She knew I wasn't her son!" He nearly dropped the knife.

"Calm down. The look worked. There must have been something about you that tipped her off. Can't imagine what that could have been. Few points for basic human intuition," he mock cheered.

"We had a deal that -"

"You looked spotless as her son. I can't change her reaction to you. Anyway, she's still dead."

"There's blood everywhere," he said, unconsciously wiping his stained hand down his shirt before the other man knocked it aside.

"I've got a big a mess as it is." He crouched down over the woman's body, her features still contorted in horror. "You gave her quite a scare," he commented, looking slightly irritated. "Just great. This is going to be like untangling that stupid Gordian knot, thank you."

"Just do it!"

The man sighed. "A deal's a deal." Stretching out a hand, he spread his fingers over the woman's sightless eyes.

* * *

Late that night, a very tall wizard was attempting to push himself through a very narrow basement window. Crouching down, he peered inside the darkened morgue where he could just make out the white of Bob's hair.

"There's no one here," reported the ghost. "No one alive at any rate," he added.

Gathering his knapsack, Harry pushed it through before him. His attempt to gently lower the bag was thwarted when the strap slipped from his grasp.

"Oh, very nice," noted Bob, sarcastically when the sack hit the floor. "Do you mind not dropping me so carelessly?"

"Sorry, I was aiming for the table."

Breathing out as much as possible, Harry pushed on the window's ledge, willing his torso to slide through the small space. His hands barely caught his weight as he finally fell through the opening.

"Perhaps you should think about taking up yoga again," Bob suggested, watching Harry land in a graceless heap on the floor.

"Oh shut up, Bob," the wizard complained, while his back protested the contortions it just performed.

Ignoring the comment, the ghost took a look at their surroundings. "Breaking and entering into a morgue. It's all one could ask for on a night out," he said, dryly.

"We're not breaking and entering," Harry corrected. "We're just entering."

Dusting off his hands, he produced a low flame in his palm to illuminate the darkened walls of Butters' domain. No matter what light shined on these walls, fluorescent or otherwise, it always looked vaguely sinister to Harry.

After reading off the numerous labels on the drawers, the wizard found the right one and pulled out the body of George Pegg. The young man was now the color of grayish chalk. Despite the blood having been cleaned from his face, the indentations from the head trauma were still visible, distorting his features.

"Okay, here he is," said Harry.

"I suppose taking a section of his brain is out of the question?" said Bob. "There's a spell that can be done using a part of the -"

"I think Butters'll notice if we sawed into Pegg's skull, Bob," Harry interrupted. "We'll just have to go with what we've got."

Nodding, the ghost flexed his hand briefly before placing it over Pegg's closed eyes. Slowly, the spectral fingers lowered until they passed through into Pegg's head. For a few moments, there was nothing but silence.

"Getting anything?" asked Harry.

"Strange," Bob muttered. "There doesn't seem to be any kind of residual magic."

"He hasn't been dead for that long."

"No, it's not that," said Bob. The hand in Pegg's head shifted. "It feels like someone almost lit a fire inside his memories. As if they burned away the last few moments."

"Is there a spell to do that?" asked Harry, running through in his mind if such a thing could be possible perhaps using a doll or thaumaturgy.

"I don't think it was a spell," replied the ghost, keeping his hand through Pegg. "It feels more like…power. Just a raw energy was used to fuse it off."

Harry blinked. "What, like they just shot his head with energy?"

"Something like that," Bob answered, his voice taking on that tone he used whenever Harry dumped his oregano in his spaghetti sauce instead of measuring it out. "The memory was carefully isolated out and burnt away. That takes a considerable amount of more talent and precision than simply blasting away."

Harry's heart dropped a little at the news. Perfect. Magical persons with anal retentive natures. This case was getting to be more problematic by the hour.

"If we can get a larger sample of Pegg's eyes, we can possibly try to see if there are any images left over from the burning," Bob suggested. "It's a long shot, but -"

Before he could finish, a light switched on far down the hallway, connecting the morgue to the elevator. The sounds of a squeaking gurney and sneakers could be heard at a distance.

"Bob, get inside!" Harry hissed. He grabbed the sack and held it out as a trail of smoke of orange cinders rapidly shot into the skull nestled inside.

As quickly and as quietly as possible, the wizard pushed Pegg's corpse back to its original place and dove behind one of Butters' cabinets. Harry clutched the sack to his chest, as he folded his long limbs as closely to his torso as possible.

"We're just wheeling her in now, sir," spoke one of the new arrivals. Harry peered cautiously over the cabinet and recognized one of the two men as Butters' assistant. They were pushing a gurney that held a body bag. Sandwiched between the assistant's shoulder and cheek was a cell phone. "Lieutenant Murphy's asked if you could come in straight away. No, sir I told her that, but she insisted."

There was silence, though Harry guessed there was probably some ranting going on at Butters' end. "Okay, she said she'll be able to make it down in about 30 minutes. I'll store the body away in Drawer 7 until then." A cellphone snapped off. "Man, he's pissed."

"Why should we be the only ones up at this hour," his companion grumbled. "20 bucks says it'll be like last time. Cause of death: the really obvious stab wounds to the chest."

Harry waited as the two workers labeled and stored away the body. As they left, neither seemed to notice the open window, nor the wizard to slowly crept out of his hiding spot. Approaching the newly occupied Drawer 7, Harry pulled out a sample vial and grimaced.


	4. Chapter 4

The chapter in which no one's lives are easy. But you know what made my life not easy? Having to remove spyware from my laptop. Yeah, that's right. THREE HOURS I had to dedicate to that. I'm ready for bed after that freaking debacle. Gaaaaah...

Anyway, read and enjoy! Reviews are always appreciated.

* * *

He'd covered all the mirrors in his house to make it harder for himself. But there were times when inevitably his mind would focus inward and he'd have little choice but to watch his life play backwards, forwards and then splinter into several million images.

He'd see the concrete walls waiting for him that would soon lead to a hospital, medication, numb years and then days pushing a library cart. Or he'd see a small cabin in the woods where there was no electricity or real heat, but there was isolation and a quiet peace that would lead to endless days of reading, hunting and eating. Or he'd see a tall man carrying a hockey stick like a Reaper's sickle that would lead to nothing but blackness.

Then if he got lost enough in what he saw, those million images would in turn splinter into another million images. Concrete walls, a hospital, numb years, followed by even more years of hospital. A cabin that would lead to isolation that would then lead to a supermarket where he would meet a woman and his cabin would be abandoned. But the images of the tall man never really splintered. It always led to a dark, coldness that he could never really comprehend. Or really task himself to try.

He only enjoyed it when things went backwards and he could with aching clarity see the face of his mother. Her beaming face upon his return from the first day of grade school. Her smile upon his receipt of his college acceptance letter. The feel of her arms around his shoulders when she hugged him. He hadn't appreciated it much then. And now he tried to scorch the feeling into his mind as the images raced by so that he could recall it on his own and would turn to the Eye less to find comfort in the memory. In her memory and the memory of his life before any of the past month could have been imaginable to him even in the darkest of his imaginations.

He blinked rapidly to try and clear his sight as a sharp pain lanced through his head. Grasping his forehead, he groped for the ever present bottle of aspirin and chewed three down without any water. Looking up from his seat as the bitter taste of medicine spread throughout his tongue, he saw the slightly exasperated look on the other's face.

"If you'd just stop using it for recreational purposes, you wouldn't have to buy the Advil in bulk."

"I wasn't. I've picked another one," he defended.

"So soon after last night?"

"I thought you'd want me to go faster. The faster I go the sooner our deal ends." When silence followed that comment, he pressed on. "Laura Miller. Works in a coffee shop on 214 Michigan Avenue. She's close to her brother. She'd trust him." He rattled off the brother's address.

"Let me guess, she served you a scone and you just HAD to take a look? And what offense does Miss Miller have to answer for?"

"She's going to own her own store in six years. She'll stage a robbery for insurance. The kid she has as a night manager is going to try and be a hero and get killed."

"No one gets anywhere by trying to a hero."

He stood up and tossed the empty bottle of aspirin at him. "Shut up!" he shouted, explosively. "Shut up and get to work! I want to see her tomorrow."

There was a sigh. "Calm down. You're running me ragged. And you look like crap."

He laughed derisively. "You can't SEE anything."

"You still look like crap and I need to pace myself after the acrobatics I had to go through last night after you practically singed yourself to that woman last night."

The laugh got louder. "Who looks like crap now? You're fucking hobbled."

"Thanks, I hadn't noticed. Either way I-"

He interrupted by saying the address again. "Tomorrow. Or deal's off."

"Fine, fine. See you tomorrow."

* * *

Harry cradled the phone to his head to try and hear around the static coming through the earpiece. "Kirmani found him?" 

"Pegg's neighbor recognized the sketch," came a tinny sounding Murphy. "Ben Harris. He's an old college friend of Pegg's."

"Did you bring him in?"

"There's no reason. He was in California for the past three months. He has an alibi the night of the murder."

"Solid?"

"At a film premiere party in LA. He has about 20 different witnesses and about 60 photos of himself there to back it up."

"Yeah, that's pretty solid."

"I have Butters' report of the woman last night for you."

"I'll come by to pick it up," said Harry, casting a look behind him toward his lab. "I…um…just need to finish something up."

"Okay." There was a suspicious note that crept into Murphy's voice.

"It's for your case, Murphy. Don't worry. I'll see you soon," Harry promised and hung up.

Re-entering his lab, he found Bob staring speculatively at the solution that was currently being heated at a low burn. A timer that the wizard had set up indicated three more minutes to go.

"You won't have much here for more than one try," predicted the ghost.

"Trying to cleanse the energy out burnt away about half of what I managed to get," said Harry, pointedly looking at the ghost.

"The process has to be exact, Harry," replied Bob, looking vaguely defensive. "Even without leaving open a margin of error, I can't even be sure that there is anything to see after filtering everything else out."

"Well, we've never worked with good odds."

"You say that almost proudly."

"I am, a little," said Harry. He ripped open a package of Polaroids and pulled out one sheet when the timer rang. Taking the mixture off the flame, the wizard carefully poured it into a tray and dipped the Polaroid in. Stepping back, he took hold of the battered hockey stick. "Fingers crossed," he muttered and concentrated.

From the tip of the disguised staff came a short burst of light that shot onto the Polaroid. The light spread out through the liquid, illuminating it for a few brief seconds before it faded. Setting the stick aside, Harry let the Polaroid soak for another few seconds before taking it out. As the square film dripped excess liquid, it began to peel in half, exposing the light sensitive backing. The wizard helped it along and laid the two halves on his table.

Silence ticked by as twin heads of a wizard and ghost bent down in unison to look at the drying Polaroid. The white-gray square slowly began to change as dark shapes began to bleed in. A black smudge the size of a coaster was spread throughout the Polaroid, giving it a burnt look, but just on the side there was something that looked like a face that appeared. The eyes of the man's visage looked like they were set over with another pair of eyes that was shifted slightly to the right, as if two faces were overlapping each other.

"Are those two people?" asked Bob.

Harry scrutinized the photo. "I don't think so," he said. "I think it's a person changing his face. She saw it changing before she died."

"A shape shifter?"

Harry started to agree, but noticed another image, peeking out just on the corner where the black smudge had not quite reached. It was in the background to the shifting face, looking smaller, but definitely present. "Now, that is another person," he said, pointing to it. He stared closer. The face of the second person was in profile, but even so, Harry could make out that it was someone wearing sunglasses. Very round, black sunglasses. Picking up the photo, he took a closer look at the familiar shape. He suddenly realized the last time he'd seen the profile, it had been wearing a pair of striped pajamas.

"Oh no."

"What?"

"It's him," said Harry, grimly. "It's the trickster."


	5. Chapter 5

A slightly shorter chapter. But the next one will be longer. Promise!

* * *

Bob remained silent as Harry paced back and forth. The wizard was raking his hands through his hair again in a gesture the ghost hadn't seen since the night Justin Morningway had died the first time.

"Okay," said Harry, finally pulling up short of nearly running through the ghost. "I have to contact the Council. Tell them what's going on." He grabbed a bowl of solution that he had used earlier to try and distill out the energy blast. "There might be enough energy signature here leftover to try and summon out the trickster. The Council could still catch him before he kills anyone else."

"Very possible," said Bob, cautiously, giving the wizard a measured look. "Harry..."

"Later, Bob," Harry threw back as he exited the lab.

* * *

The soreness that had started out on the surface of his skin had now more or less moved through to the very core of his body. Wincing, the trickster flexed his hand and felt the utter dryness of the power that should have been shimmering underneath the fingers. He was running out of time. 

From his spot, he observed Laura Miller's brother exiting his apartment and took note of the man's face and body. He would have to get a little closer in order to get the extra details right, though he doubted at this point if he could even get the general whole of the brother's figure accurate enough to fool Laura Miller. Still, the faster all of this got done, the better off he'd be.

Flexing his fingers once, more, he got up to follow.

* * *

An hour's worth of attempting to contact Morgan gave Harry nothing but silence. "Harry," said Bob, watching the quiet turmoil that was bubbling up inside his former student. "I know it's against your nature, but this is not your fault. You couldn't have predicted what would happen." 

"I set him free in the first place. And now six people are dead."

"You couldn't have predicted what would happen," Bob repeated, in a louder tone.

"I wasn't thinking straight when I did that spell. How stupid could I get?"

The regret in the wizard's voice was apparent and despite busying himself with brainstorming a way to get Harry to focus his energies on something productive, Bob felt his own rush of guilt at having been the cause of the wizard's carelessness. But it would be useless to have one brooding wizard, let alone two and the ghost shoved away his thoughts for another time.

"If you wish to undo some of the damage done by what you so insist is your fault, then I suggest you stop the self-flagellation for now and think of something useful to do," Bob stated with as much stern authority he could muster without sounding cold.

Harry looked up at the verbal shake the ghost had delivered him. The dark eyes remained distraught for a moment before hardening with a slow determination at the truth of Bob's words. His eyes flickered to the bowl. "The distilled energy. If the Council can use it, so can I."

"To summon the trickster here?" asked Bob. "How do you intend on keeping him here until the Council answers you?"

"A binding circle."

Bob gave him an incredulous look. "That's not going to be nearly strong enough."

Pushing aside a few jars, the wizard located the knife he had used a year ago on a similar spell. "Good thing he let me in on a little secret on how to boost a spell up."

* * *

He'd just finished trailing the brother when he felt it. At first it was as if there was a cord snaking out from his chest that was pulling him toward the ground. He stumbled and fought against the force that continued to yank at him. The sensation was rather familiar, though the spell felt clumsy and somewhat inelegant. 

"Crying out loud, what NOW?" the trickster demanded, trying to keep his balance. But then the invisible cord seemed to wrap around him so much so that he couldn't even move his limbs to brace himself as it quickly pulled him down. For a split second, the trickster felt the concrete connect with his face before the hard cement seemed to morph into something wooden and dusty.

He coughed heavily at the grime he inhaled. "That HURT!" he complained as he experimentally lifted his head from its position on the floor. Two faces that looked mildly surprised at his arrival stared back him.

"Wow, that actually worked."

He recognized that voice.

Groaning, the trickster slumped his head back down to the floor. "Harry Dresden. Freaking perfect."


	6. Chapter 6

Despite the determined bravado Harry wielded while performing the summoning spell, he felt a small jolt of surprise when the trickster actually appeared, lying face down inside the binding circle he'd drawn. Reflexively, the wizard took a step back and tightened his hold on his staff in case the newly arrived prisoner tried anything.

Fortunately, the trickster seemed content to simply groan before letting his head fall back onto the floor. "How the hell did you even know it was me?" he demanded, his voice half muffled by the floor.

"Your last victim clean up wasn't so thorough," Harry answered, holding up the Polaroid.

"Ugh, this is humiliating," the trickster moaned. From behind the sunglasses that remained unbroken, he eyed Harry's free hand that was clenched in a fist still dripping from the cut he'd made. "Man, I never should have taught you that trick with the blood," he groused.

"You never should have tricked me, period!" said Harry, angrily.

"Hello, trickster! And if we're going to be throwing accusations around, I might add that the woman was not MY victim. That honor would belong to one of your kind. And trust me, he earned it."

"And you just happen to be lending a friendly hand," stated Bob, sardonically.

Twisting his neck, the trickster seemed to notice the ghost for the first time. A slow smile spread across the lean face as he appraised the spirit. "Dresden's lost ghost. He moved mountains to get you back. Hope you were worth it."

"Why are you helping the murderer?" Harry demanded, gripping the staff once again.

"I mean, you can't even pick up a book," the trickster continued, ignoring the wizard. "So you must provide some scintillating conversation. When I'm back full force, you and I should have a talk. I'm sure we could come to a nice deal."

Bob frowned disdainfully at the offer, but something in the words caught his attention. "What do you mean by full force?"

"What, you think a little summoning spell is all it takes to catch me? How dense are you two?" snorted the trickster. Throwing back the weight of one shoulder, he attempted to roll onto his back. A task made a lot more difficult by the fact he still couldn't move his arms from his side. "It seems my escape plan was a little flawed," he said. The striped shirt the trickster wore was open at the collar. Around the skin of his neck was something resembling a bruise. But upon closer inspection, Harry saw it was more a branding that looked like a vine or perhaps, dead entrails had left over on the skin.

"I thought your bindings were exchanged in the spell you provided for Harry," said Bob.

"They were. But apparently it's a little more complicated than that," the trickster replied. Giving up on trying to lie down on his back, he settled for curling up on his side. "I should have know I couldn't completely free myself from my bindings." He stared at the ghost by Harry's side, smiling morbidly. "A prisoner can't spring himself. Only his jailer can. But then you already know that don't you, Bainbridge?"

Seeing the grimace on Bob's face, Harry hit the end of his staff down next to the binding circle with a loud clack. A rope of light snaked across the floor and lit up the sigils on the binding circle. "Alright, we don't have time for this. You're going to tell me right now who you're helping to kill these people and why."

"Or you'll do what?"

In one move, the wizard swung the staff over and hit the other end onto the floor. At the gesture, the trickster's body flipped in the air and slammed down on the wooden ground. "OW, dammit!" he exclaimed. "That hurt!"

"Really? Huh." Harry repeated the motion.

"This won't kill me, you know," informed the trickster after his other shoulder hit the floor.

"I know. But I'm sure it's really, REALLY annoying for you," replied Harry, flipping his staff again.

"Ow! Fine, okay! Jeez!" exclaimed the trickster. "His name is Selby Wagner."

"Why's he doing it?" demanded Harry. He pressed his staff harder on the floor. The trickster's face smashed down on the wooden panels in response.

"He saw their futures," the trickster answered. "And the crime they would commit if he didn't rid of them before."

Harry loosened his grip slightly. "How can he do that?"

"He's got Odin's Eye."

There was a pause, while Harry's stomach got doused with an icy sensation. "That's….that's impossible," he said, softly. He glanced over at Bob as if for confirmation, though the ghost only seemed to look paler. "The Eye's a myth."

The trickster laughed, the sound garbled by his face being shoved to the ground. "Tell that to the six people he's killed."

"How did he come by something like that?" asked Bob, keeping his voice remarkably steady.

"He's a Wagner," the trickster replied. "It's been in his family since the day Odin plucked it out of his head. They've been entrusted with it. He's just the first one to use it."

"Why?" Harry demanded. "Centuries that Eye's been lost and now someone just decides to use it?"

"Don't ask me. Selby's a nutcase. I'm just helping him."

"What for?"

"We have a deal."

"What sort of deal?" When there was no answer, Harry flipped the staff over. The trickster's head connected sharply with the ground. "What deal?" asked Harry, again.

"I help him get rid of seven would be criminals and he gives me the Eye when he's done."

After a pause, Harry released his stronghold on the trickster who flopped back down on his side. He moved toward the corner with Bob, bending his head down toward the ghost. "Could he be lying?" he asked, quietly.

"It would be in his nature. However," the ghost considered. "I don't believe so."

"Why seven people?"

Bob shook his head, contemplatively. "It's a powerful number. There could be any number of reasons."

"Can't he just take the Eye if he wants it that badly? Why go through all the trouble?"

"An opportunity to spread further chaos?" Bob speculated.

"It doesn't work like that," the trickster interjected from his place on the floor. "The Eye was entrusted to Wagners' bloodline by Odin himself. You can't just steal it without some repercussions. Selby needs to give it to me willingly. Well, with about as much will he's got left after he's done wading in the Insanity Pool. I tell you, the guy's addiction's made him a little loopy." He glanced up at Bob. "Bet you wish your skull had the same snazzy security system on it."

"You're enjoying this," stated Harry, looking disgusted.

"Oh, please. You think I get my kicks from helping a guy live out his Justice League fantasy? I tried to talk him out of it to move things along, but he was set on it. The longer I drag my feet on this, the weaker I get until…well, until I get caught in a binding circle by a second rate wizard. So are we done?"

"You are," said Harry. "I call the Council and they'll chain your Norse ass back to that rock where it belongs."

There was a snort from the trickster, which soon erupted into laughter. "Wow, I almost feel bad for you. How've you managed to survive this long being this stupid?" he chortled. "Who the hell do you think I'm getting the Eye for?"

At both Harry and Bob's stunned silence, the trickster grinned. "What, you thought being this weak the Council wouldn't be able to catch me? YOU caught me for crying out loud. Ancient Mai nabbed me six months ago."

The staff was back on the floor, pressing the trickster's form down. "You're lying," growled the wizard.

"You're delusional," replied the trickster through clenched teeth. "Why do you think she had me moved to from the ground to that motel in the first place? She wants the Eye and she knew I could find it for her. I didn't agree to do it, but that was before I realized she has it in her to restore me back to full power."

"Mai wouldn't allow a killing spree just to get her hands on the Eye."

"Are we talking about the same Ancient Mai?" asked the trickster, incredulously. "The ability to see the past, present and future? Of anyone? What's a few insignificant lives compared to power like that?"

"She would know better than to agree to a deal with you," Harry tried.

"Never underestimate the desire for power," said the trickster. "Or the usefulness of a really good magical legal team," he added. "You should have seen the contract she had drawn up for our deal. I'm telling you, it took me about a week alone to read it all through. Very iron-clad. There's no way I can get out of it without condemning myself to spend the rest of my days as a cripple."

Despite the desire to throw off the accusations, Harry felt a strong flicker of doubt. Could he really say in all honesty that Mai wouldn't be capable of something like that? She had been perfectly willing to let two of her own wardens die for her cause. Why not a handful of mortals? He couldn't continue to speculate on it.

"I'm calling the Council."

"Go ahead," invited the trickster. "They'll only tell you to release me. I'm one human away from the end of my contract with Selby."

Harry threw a last glare at the trickster as he moved to open up his lab door. "Bob, keep an eye on him."

"Oh, what is HE going to do?" called out the trickster to Harry's retreating back. "Walk through me to death?"

The wizard only slammed the door, the mechanisms locking shut in his wake.


	7. Chapter 7

"So," began the trickster, conversationally. "How was your vacation to the Other Side?"

"Enlightening, thank you," came Bob's clipped reply.

"You know I meant what I said about helping you out when I'm free of this."

"Only you never help anyone," said the ghost. "You help only yourself and if someone else benefits it is usually by happy chance."

"I helped Dresden get you back, didn't I?"

"You used my situation and his distress to your advantage. That is not helping."

"That's all in the matter of how you look at it," the trickster said, airily.

"What makes you even think you will be restored to your true self?" questioned Bob.

"You have very little chance of succeeding at this point."

"Oh, I'll get restored, alright," answered the trickster. His voice softened to a determined hush, giving an air of uneasy menace. "It might take longer than I'd anticipated, but I'll get freed. Make no mistake about that." He gave the ghost a pitying look. "That's your problem, Bainbridge. You've let being imprisoned for a few odd centuries get to you. If you'd remained as determined to get free as you were the day they chained you to your skull, you might have made some progress by now."

"By scheming and destroying innocent lives, I suppose," said Bob, tightly.

"Don't give me that," snapped the trickster. "Don't think you're actually BETTER than me." He inched forward to the edge of the binding circle, keeping his gaze on Bob. "I've heard all about you. You've done plenty more in your past for a lot more selfish reasons than mine. And then going from that to this? You might have Dresden fooled, but you can't con me. I know you're not satisfied with being some wizard's pet ghost."

Bob smiled, grimly. "On the contrary, Harry is quite aware of my feelings on the matter."

"Yeah? Does he know you're petrified about what will happen to you once he's gone?" asked the trickster. "Does he know that when he's not around, you can almost hear the shrieks of everyone who wants your soul to tear it to pieces on the Other Side?" The trickster bared his teeth in what could be a grin or a snarl. "Or maybe you don't share yourself with him quite as much as you pretend. Because the last time you shared yourself quite so much, you got a nice axe-shaped hole in the back of your head."

For a moment, the trickster thought he saw something akin to fear dance through the ghost's face. But before he could really be sure, it was gone and the mildly annoyed expression was back. "Or maybe you simply can't understand what it means to hold any affection for another soul," Bob said.

The trickster snickered. "Poor Hrothbert. You had the potential to remain one of the most powerful wizards to ever walk this earth. And you threw it all away because you got too attached to another human. Centuries later, you're doing it again. In that sense, your imprisonment hasn't changed you one bit."

Shifting, he rested his head back on the ground, turning it away from Bob, his features hidden. "Don't get me wrong," he continued. "I'm sure Dresden appreciates the loyalty. You remind me of my wife. Too emotional for her own good. She chose to remain with me in my prison, despite losing the protection of her peers in doing so. She could have remained a goddess worthy of worship, but gave it all up to be faithful to me. You know where that got her? A lousy death, that's what."

"I question her choice of you as the recipient of her loyalty instead," replied Bob.

"Ha, very nice," acknowledged the trickster, keeping his head turned away. "But at the end of the day, she gained nothing from her devotion. So what if your wizard keeper is more deserving of your affections than I was of Sigyn's? One day he'll be gone and you'll once again be alone. What will your loyalty to Dresden count for then?"

* * *

"Come on, come on," Harry muttered. He sent a third call out to his normally punctual warden and paced as he waited for a response.

As silence on Morgan's end prevailed, the wizard muttered a curse. Walking into the storefront, he dialed Murphy's cell phone.

"Where have you been?" demanded a highly irritated lieutenant. "You were supposed to come pick up Butters' report an hour ago."

"Look, never mind that," Harry said, quickly. "I need you to run a check on someone. His name is Selby Wagner. I need his address, where he works, everything."

"Why?" Murphy's voice held the barest tremor of hope. One that Harry would have gladly confirmed by telling her he was the killer. But if Selby had Odin's Eye at his disposal then he might be able to spot Murphy coming long before she even reached him. He couldn't risk her charging in to grab someone who could predict her every move.

"He might be linked to the killer," Harry answered, warily. "But listen, Murphy, just run a check and CALL me with whatever you find," he stressed.

"If he's involved in the murders, we can bring him in. I can't waste anymore time."

"Murphy, I can't be sure and if you bring him in….it can be bad," he finished, weakly.

"Please, just promise you'll call me before you do anything. Please?"

There was a pause, followed by a heavy sigh. "Fine."

"Thanks."

Harry replaced the phone on its cradle when a feminine voice intoned behind him, "You get more foolish by the day, Dresden."

Spinning around, the wizard found himself staring at a petite Asian woman flanked by two unfamiliar wardens. "Mai, I…called Morgan," Harry stated.

"I know you did," she said, simply. "I'm choosing to answer."

The unexpected appearance of Ancient Mai deepened Harry's earlier, niggling suspicions. And prickling sensation of dread snaked down his back. "The trickster," he began.

"Is here," Mai finished for him, her face unreadable. "So you said to Morgan in your last calls to him."

"Where is he?" Harry asked.

"On an assignment."

"What does that mean?"

The deceptively youthful face hardened. "His absence does not concerns you. What does concern you is releasing the trickster to finish his job."

"What? He was telling the truth?!" Despite himself, the wizard couldn't help the horror creeping into his voice. "You hired him to find the Eye for you? At the expensive of people's lives?"

The female figure took a step closer. And her demeanor, more than her bodyguards, exuded a dangerous air. "My affair with the trickster is none of your business. You have no place involving yourself. Release him."

"Mai, people are DYING because of that Eye."

"People are dying because the human in charge of it is abusing its powers. From what the trickster tells me he has descended into madness due to it and will not be able to control it any longer."

"You can't be serious about this," Harry protested.

Mai cocked her head. She would have looked cutely quizzical had it not been for the look in her dark eyes. "Have you ever known me to joke, Dresden?" she asked, softly.

Swallowing, the wizard looked from Mai to the two wardens standing behind her. He thought again on the missing member who was usually a fixture in Mai's service. "Morgan didn't like you doing this, did he? He disagreed with you for once so you sent him on some mission to keep his mouth shut?" he guessed, angrily.

"You fall under his jurisdiction and so you fall under mine," said Mai, keeping her voice at a disturbingly calm level. "I don't want to waste more of my time putting you through another trial if you don't do as you're told. Release the trickster. Now."

* * *

"Bad news?" asked the trickster, brightly when Harry re-entered.

"It's true," said Bob, confirming his suspicions from the expression on Harry's face. The wizard nodded, mutely.

"So now that we're all on the same page, are you going to release me or what?"

"Shut up," Harry ordered, darkly.

"Oh come on. No need to be sore just because I was right and you were wrong."

Raising the hockey stick, Harry slammed it down hard, dragging it across the floor. The trickster's body slid roughly against the wooden panels and nearly snapped back when it hit the invisible walls of the binding circle.

The brightly burning sigils abruptly winked out as the wizard swept his staff across one side of the circle. Immediately, the trickster's arms fell from his sides.

"Get the hell out of my apartment," Harry commanded, lifting the stick at the trickster, who staggered to his feet. "Don't think I can't blast the last of your crippled powers out of you."

A large grin spread across the trickster's face. "Well, you're a lot more interesting when you're mad." A rush of fire enveloped his body and disappeared, taking the trickster with it.

Bob stared from the newly burnt hole on the floor to Harry. "Please tell me there was a reason behind that display?"

The wizard knelt down by the broken binding circle. A small scrap of cloth from a striped shirt lay torn, having been snagged on the wooden panels of the floor. Picking it up, Harry's mouth thinned in a determined line. "Oh yeah."


	8. Chapter 8

We're reaching the end. About two more chapters to go. As usual, feedback is much appreciated!

* * *

"Selby Wagner," read Murphy over the phone. "There's a record of him coming into the station three months ago."

"For what?" asked Harry, wiping off a crystal.

"His mother had gone missing. He filed a missing persons report with us."

"Did he find her?"

"A few days later. She'd been carjacked. Her body was found two miles outside of the city."

"Did you catch the guy who did it?"

"Yeah, it was just some kid. He said in his statement he hadn't meant to kill her. Things just got out of hand. What does he have to do with my case?"

"I think Selby's on some sort of vigilante kick. Murdering people who he thinks are going to commit a crime at some point in their future."

"How do you know that?" asked Murphy. When a pause followed, she sighed. "I should know better than to ask at this point."

"It might be worth checking out his house," Harry instructed. The cryptic nature of their conversation was all too familiar for Murphy. Something that made her want to punch Dresden as soon as profusely thank him.

"Do I have any legal evidence to warrant a search?" she asked, feeling like it was a useless question.

"Well…"

"Nevermind. I'll figure it out. What are you going to do?"

Harry glanced at the remnants of his scrying and the map that now sported a bright red circle he'd drawn on. "Going to find you some evidence," he replied.

* * *

Laura Miller rubbed an eye as she pressed her cell phone to her cheek. She loved her brother dearly, but at times he got on her last nerve. 

"Just have the guy send the papers over to me, I'll take a look at them in the morning."

"You're awesome, Laura."

"No, I'm an idiot for not charging you."

"You can't charge me. You LOVE me," he replied. She could hear the grin in his voice.

"Less and less everyday, Nick," she stated with more humor than anger. "I'll call you tomorrow."

Her cell phone chirped as she ended her call with her brother, indicating low battery. Rummaging through her bag, she pulled out the charger and plugged it into the socket on her landing when the doorbell rang.

"Hey Laura," greeted the person from behind the screen door.

"What…?"

"Are you going to let me in or what?" he smiled.

Laura blinked. It was her brother. But somehow he looked wrong. "Nick…what? Are you messing around with me?"

"What are going on about?" he asked, the smile remaining.

"Nick, I…" She frowned. Something was making her heart beat faster and cause a cold sweat to break out. It almost looked like a different man was wearing a Nick Mask. But that sounded insane. "I just talked to you on the phone…" she said, turning to gesture toward the kitchen where she had left her cell.

The screen door suddenly banged open, smashing heavily into her face. Laura lay stunned on the floor from the impact and felt blood spurt from her nose. A hand grabbed the front of her hair.

Crying out, she swung out a disoriented arm, only to have it easily batted away. The hand wrenched at her hair, forcing her to look up. Her brother's eyes stared down at her and then his face seemed to melt.

_I have a concussion, _she reasoned. _I'm having a bad dream_, she even hoped.

"This would be a lot easier for you if you didn't struggle," he spoke. That definitely wasn't her brother.

"What….what do you want?" she sobbed, blood mixing in her mouth.

"For you to shut up," he ordered.

Laura heard a click and noticed the gun in his hand.

"Please," she begged. "Please, take whatever you want but please, don't hurt me."

"I'm not here to steal from you," he snapped. He jerked her head, giving her a better angle of gun.

"Oh, god! Please don't kill me! I haven't done anything! Please!" she cried.

"I said, SHUT UP!" he bellowed. The volume of his own voice seemed to cause him pain and he clutched his head momentarily. Using the small distraction, Laura kicked out with her foot. It connected satisfyingly with his leg. Scrambling up amidst his howl of pain, she made a break for the back of her house. She'd gone as far as the hallway when she felt his hand grab her shoulder once again. Before she could react, something hard and metal smacked her across the back of her head.

* * *

A battered Jeep eased itself across the street from Laura Miller's house. Harry had just about crossed the walkway, keeping quiet to try and remain undetected when he heard a scream and crash coming from the house. 

_Screw this._

Clutching the hockey stick, he ran full speed through the unlocked front door and screen. He burst in to see a man standing over the prone figure of who he guessed was Laura Miller. Blood covered her face and for a second, Harry thought he was too late. Then he heard a faint moan coming from her.

Her attacker quickly grabbed her limp form, pressing the barrel of his gun to her forehead as he faced the wizard. "Stay back!" he shouted.

"Selby, calm down," Harry eased, though he didn't lower the hockey stick. "Just calm down."

Selby Wagner shoved the gun closer to Laura's temple. "I mean it! Keep away now!"

Despite having won the physical fight with Laura, Selby looked a mess. The sickly pallor of his skin was only highlighted by the gaunt planes of face. As he his eyes widened, the wizard noticed one was a normal brown while the other was a brilliant shade of blue. Both were currently trained on him. Harry sized his options. He could try and take Selby out with a well aimed blast, but in the time it took him to do so, Selby could easily pull the trigger.

"Okay, look," said Harry, backing up one step. "I'm keeping away. There's no need to hurt anyone, okay? Especially her. She hasn't done anything."

Selby laughed and the sound made the wizard's skin crawl for some reason. "Do you have any idea of what she'll do in a year if I let her live?" he demanded.

"I don't know what you think, Selby," began Harry. "But the future isn't set. You don't know if what you saw is her only future," he argued.

"What do you know?" demanded Selby. "You don't know what I've seen. The millions and millions of ways people everywhere are going to turn around and kill someone! For a lousy pile of cash! You don't know anything!"

"I do know that using the Eye is killing you," said Harry, levelly. Selby's eyes darted up to him. He looked momentarily scared. "You're not supposed to be using it. You can't handle it. No human can."

"You…know about it?" asked Selby, sounding genuinely surprised. "How can you know about it? No one does."

"I just do," insisted the wizard. "And it's making you sick."

Selby opened his mouth as if to reply. But quickly the curious expression melted into a hardened one. "Get in here!" he shouted to an unseen person. "Get in here, NOW! We had a deal!"

There was a flash of fire and trickster appeared by Selby's side. He spotted Harry, still standing across the room with his hockey stick.

"You have GOT to be kidding me?" the trickster exclaimed, exasperated. "Don't you ever take a hint?"

"Get rid of him," Selby ordered.

The trickster looked mildly surprised. "What?"

"Get rid of him! We have a deal. You get rid of him or the Eye remains mine!"

"Actually," the trickster corrected. "The deal is that I help you get rid of seven would be killers for the Eye. And as far as I can see, you're one trigger finger away from that goal. I don't see Dresden here manhandling you down so just blow her brains out already and let's move this along."

"Selby, don't!" Harry shouted.

"Dresden, keep your damn trap shut, will you?" demanded the trickster.

Selby's eyes flicked back to Harry, his eyes narrowing as he studied the wizard. "Dresden…" he murmured, as if trying to place the name. He seemed to study the wizard more carefully this time. Recognition slowly bled into his face. "It's you," he said, softly. "I've seen you."

Selby's one blue eye shimmered and glowed in the dim lights of the house. Harry fought the urge to look away from the probing iris and lost. He stared down somewhere to right of Selby, but felt the man's gaze penetrating through him.

_"Whatever killed mom,"_ Selby intoned, quietly. _"I'm going to find it."_ Harry's own eyes widened at the words._ "And when I do. I'm gonna rip its heart out."_ The wizard had a brief flash of memory. Of his father soothing away another nightmare. Of being given his mother's bracelet and being told how she had not been wearing it the day she died. Of vowing to one day find her killer and dolling out punishment. Selby saw it. And now he knew.

"Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden," Selby listed. "Mother dead, killer unknown…at least to you. Father dead, murdered by your uncle."

"Well, he's got your number," the trickster remarked.

Harry finally dragged his eyes up to at least Selby's face if not his gaze. He saw that his nose was bleeding. "Selby, you have to stop."

_"Uncle Justin, I want to thank you for everything."_

"Selby..."

_"I am everything I am today because of…you." _

"Stop!"

Blood dripped from Selby's nose and splattered on Laura's shoulder. He didn't seem to notice. But the light in his one eye dimmed all the same. He blinked, seemingly seeing Harry again rather than his past. "It's you," said Selby. "I saw you in one of my futures. This future. This…this is my future as I saw it."

"You have to let Laura go," Harry said. "She hasn't done anything yet. She might not ever do anything."

Selby kept his bi-colored eyes trained on the wizard, as he continued to hold the unconscious woman in front of him. But he addressed the trickster, who looked more impatient than tense. "Just like our arrangement," he said. "After I get rid of the seventh killer, the Eye is yours."

"A deal's a deal," the trickster agreed.

Blood now dripped from Selby's ear, mixing with the stains already made by the blood from his nose. Tears slid down from his brown eye. "You were right," he said to Harry. "The others did have other futures, but I couldn't just stand by and leave it to chance. Not after what happened to my mother. Not after knowing someone else would feel the way I did when she died," he said, trembling. "But this. This is one of my futures. I saw you in it. And I know how it ends."

"Don't do this," Harry pleaded. He lifted his hockey stick again, looking for an opportunity to fire without hitting Laura.

"The last killer," Selby promised. And pulled the trigger.

"No!"

Laura's body fell forward where Selby had pushed her. She landed on the carpeted floor, the jolt of the impact eliciting a groan from her. A few inches away lay Selby. Blood pouring out from the self-inflicted gunshot wound under his chin and the top of his skull. Harry stared at the body, horrified. His lowered hockey stick hung limply from his fingers as he stood frozen. The trickster moved around and crouched down next to Selby's head.

The dead man's eyes were open, though only the brown eye seemed dimmed. Reaching out, the trickster pressed a finger just under the blue eye. It popped out of Selby's socket, rolling easily into the trickster's hand like a bright marble. "Ohhhh, yes," he said, happily. He gave Selby a smile. "Thanks for the business."

"Wait," began Harry, shaking himself out of the paralysis.

"Sorry, delivery to make."

And before the wizard could make a move to detain him, the trickster vanished.


	9. Chapter 9

2nd to last part!

* * *

Unwanted, but necessary work came to Harry in the form of calling Murphy from Laura Miller's house and also an ambulance for the barely conscious woman.

It took approximately three hours for the wizard to give his statement and be subjected to ruthless questioning. But in the end, nothing could be confirmed or denied without Laura's testimony. And the woman was now in the hospital with a bad concussion. Knowing nothing more could be done until the next day. Murphy allowed Harry to go home.

Tiredly, Harry pushed the door to his storefront open, already feeling his bed as he walked in.

They were there waiting for him. And had apparently been questioning Bob, judging by the half worried, half irritated look on the ghost's face. The two wardens stepped aside, allowing Ancient Mai to walk forward. Her dark eyes glittered with an unfiltered malice.

"Dresden, what have you been doing?" she hissed.

"What?" asked Harry, dumbly.

"What did you DO?" she growled, taking a step forward.

"Oh, come on!" Harry protested, seeing the wardens following close behind her with a look that promised a lot of physical pain. "Look, Mai, Selby's dead, you have what you want," he said, tiredly. "My interfering didn't do anything."

"Where is the Eye?" Mai demanded.

"The trickster took it to take to you. Selby gave it to him before he killed himself," Harry replied, giving the small woman an incredulous look. "No, really. He took it."

"By the binds of his contract to me, he was to deliver the Eye to my keeping the minute he retrieved it," stated Mai. "And so far, no trickster. No Eye."

Harry gave her an astonished look. He glanced over at Bob, who shrugged, looking equally puzzled. "The only other one present during all of this is you. So I can only conclude you have it," Mai continued, quietly.

"Mai, I have no idea what you're talking about," Harry stated. "I wouldn't take something like that."

"As I have been telling you and your twin goliaths for the past hour," Bob interjected, gesturing at the two wardens.

"Quiet, ghost!" Mai thundered.

"Mai, I don't have it," Harry insisted, his fantasy of a warm bed getting smaller and smaller by the second. "Selby gave it to the trickster."

"That is impossible," Mai snapped. "If he had it, he'd have given it to me by now! All of this was simple before you got yourself involved. You will tell me right now what you did."

"The only thing he did was be a pain in my ass," stated a new arrival.

All heads turned to the front door where a familiar figure was casually leaning against the frame. The trickster easily walked in, a smile gracing his lean face.

Pushing past the surprised wizard, Ancient Mai walked up to the trickster, still flanked by her two mute wardens. "Hand over the Eye this instant," she commanded.

"Well, the thing is," said the trickster, lightly. "I no longer have it."

Mai's face darkened and for a split second it distorted into its true form before smoothing back to its normally youthful appearance. "Then you have condemned yourself to a crippled existence. Our deal is broken and your binds are forever."

"That's true," the trickster agreed. "Our deal is broken. The thing was, I had another offer. And wouldn't you know it? My binds are gone."

Mai laughed scornfully. "You're a liar. Who could possibly release you?"

"My original jailer, obviously," answered the trickster. "Odin was all too glad to grant me freedom in exchange for what is rightfully his."

From his point of view, Harry could only see the back of Mai's head, but even then he could sense the waves of utter fury coming from the Council member.

"You loathsome worm," hissed Mai. "You have no idea what -"

"Be quiet," the trickster ordered, flatly. The sheer surprise of the command seemed to silence the Council woman. Her wardens shifted uncomfortably.

The trickster moved closer to Mai until he was nearly standing on her feet. Despite not shifting his shape, he looked somehow larger and for the first time since meeting him, Harry could clearly see the amount of danger the trickster was capable of. "You stupid hag," he continued. "You think someone like you can control me?" Snaking out a hand, the trickster grabbed Mai's throat.

The two wardens advanced and despite himself, Harry held up his own staff. The trickster grinned and snapped his fingers. A circle of bright fire encircled each of them instantly, trapping them. Harry attempted to cease the flames with a gesture to no avail. Peering over Mai's shoulder, the trickster assessed the two wardens. "Ah, the two who you ordered to murder my dear wife Sigyn while moving me," he concluded. "I'll have to kill you for that."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Mai, disdainfully. She made no move to defend herself, despite her current situation. "You didn't love her. You seeking justice on her behalf? Don't make me laugh."

"How true," agreed the trickster, almost sighing. "But she remained while others chose to abandon me. For that, she deserved better than to be ended by you." He looked over at the wardens again. "Certainly by the two of you." He clenched his fist and the ring of fire closed in immediately. All that remained were two identical piles of ash. "And now," he said to Mai, who remained expressionless. "That leaves you."

"Hey, excuse me!" Harry shouted from his spot on the flaming floor. "Do you have any idea what you're bringing down on yourself starting a war with her?"

"Harry, keep quiet," Bob advised, eyeing the flames.

"I'd listen to your ghost if I were you," the trickster concurred.

"But he's right," said Mai, neutrally. She looked unbothered by the hand that was still encircling her neck. "Do you really want to start a war with me?"

"I don't need to," assured the trickster.

Logically, Harry felt like that should have been reassuring, but somehow the tone made him a little more nervous. Or maybe it was due to the fire inching a little closer to him.

"Funny thing about Odin. Around since the beginning of time and STILL he always leaves a loophole for me," said the trickster, conversationally. "He never said I couldn't use the Eye before handing it over. And you know me, I just had to take a peek at what was in store for you."

The trickster bent his head, leaning in close to Mai's ear. "One usually has several choices that lead them down several paths to several ends. I saw all of yours. And there's an ARMY of surprises waiting for you, you ancient bitch."

Maybe it was a trick of the light due to the fire around him, but Harry could swear he saw Ancient Mai, a leader of the High Council, pale several shades.

The trickster grinned. "I've seen what you can't escape. And knowing that, I'm completely satisfied." He released his grip on her. She turned to face him, energy crackled from her and shot toward the trickster who batted it away. "Now, now," he reprimanded.

"We are not done," whispered Mai. "You were chained up once. I'll find a way to do it again. And next time, I'll be the only one holding the keys."

And then she was gone.

The trickster's smile only looked more pleased.

He stepped forward, turning his attention to the remaining trapped wizard. "Harry Dresden. You have a knack for getting into trouble," he stated. "It almost makes me like you." With a gesture, the flames were gone, but Harry instead found himself pinned to the floor, face down. The trickster kneeled down by Harry's side as the wizard's face smashed up against the floor boards. "Payback's always so much fun."


	10. Chapter 10

And the conclusion. Thank you to everyone for reading and taking the time to leave reviews!

* * *

_Well, this feels sadly familiar,_ thought Harry. Again, he was now trapped in his own home, face down with a supernatural being taunting him while Bob watched. _At least he's not threatening to unzip my skin like a coat._

"Here's a question," said the trickster, conversationally. "What could you do, Bainbridge, if I decided I was going to snap Dresden's neck right now? Or maybe I should make that a rhetorical question. We both know you couldn't do a thing."

"I am as eternal as you are," Bob replied. "I will be freed one day and if you harm him, I can promise I will find you." His voice was steady, though there was a distinct tinge of brutality in the tone that had been absent the day a skinwalker had posed the same question. It made Harry feel conflictingly protected and slightly frightened by the ghost.

The trickster only laughed. "Atta boy, Bainbridge!" he cheered. "I knew you were still in there somewhere. Lucky for all of us, I don't intend to kill your human keeper. He's much more interesting alive than dead."

"Great, thanks," said Harry, dryly. His face was beginning to get sore from being pressed down on.

"Although bouncing you off your own walls sounds incredibly tempting right now. But I want you alert to hear my proposition to you."

The wizard half groaned and laughed. "You've got to be joking. Not interested."

"Don't you even want to hear my offer?"

"No."

"Oh, come on."

"Your deals tend to end with a pile of dead bodies. I'll pass," replied the wizard, coldly.

"You know Harry, being a bleeding heart for justice is very nice and romantic for the movies, but in real life, it'll just drag you down," the trickster advised. "You'd be better suited looking out for yourself."

"What, like you?"

"You can't say it hasn't given me results. Which brings me to my proposition," said the trickster. "How would you like to know what's in store for you?" The trickster smiled at Harry's silence. "Yeah, I couldn't resist taking a look at your pending futures either."

"No thanks. I'll stick to finding out the old fashioned way," Harry answered.

"Don't be too sure. You see, unlike Ancient Mai, you do have a few options. And trust me, your results differ quite a bit depending on what you do." The trickster flicked his hand and Harry found himself landing painfully on his back, staring up at him. "I was wrong to underestimate you, Dresden. You actually have a potential to become something quite extraordinary. Who knew?"

"I think you and I have different ideas as to what's extraordinary," said Harry.

"Trust me, it beats some of the other alternatives you have. Which I can tell you all about for a price."

"Oh, here it comes."

"It's nothing too taxing for you," assured the trickster. "You don't even have to sing. All you need do is grant me an invitation to enter your uncle's house, now rightfully yours."

The wizard frowned. He hadn't been expecting that. "Why?" he asked, suspiciously.

The trickster shrugged. "A lot happened there. It holds a lot of very old magic, which I wouldn't mind seeing. But said old magic prevents me free access, unlike this poorly defended hovel of yours. So, how about it? A look at your future for what's pretty much a trip to a museum for me? I promise not to take anything."

"You really think I'm stupid enough to make a deal like that with you."

The trickster sighed. "No, I had a feeling you'd be all noble and stupid about it." He stood up. "But I'll tell you what? I'll leave the offer on the table. Just in case."

"Don't hold your breath."

"I wouldn't be hasty if I were you," the trickster warned. "After all, you might, at some point in the possible futures, find yourself in a situation where you may be desperate enough to want to know what path to take." He glanced over at Bob, giving the ghost what looked like a knowing smile. "After all, there are others whose destinies are tied to yours. You may want to be cautious for their sakes if not yours."

"Harry, just stop talking to him," ordered Bob. "He has rejected your offer. Now leave," he addressed the trickster.

"Give it some thought," said the trickster. "Be seeing you, then."

And then he vanished.

THE END


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